Golden Butterfly – Part 01
The flames of war billowed across the globe with the ferocity of a wildfire.
Unlike the first one, it spread swiftly and stealthily, infiltrating nations and people’s lives without warning or sound. Nobody could stop it.
Though a colossal human-made catastrophe born from the confluence of national interests, political ideologies, and trivial ambitions, it was also a metamorphosis triggered by the world’s own volition. To some extent, it was a natural upheaval orchestrated by time’s inexorable flow. Change was inevitable.
The German Empire plotted meticulously. The United States, a New World powerhouse, promptly entered the fray, and Italy, France, and Spain followed suit with successive declarations of war. Although Europe initially stood divided, the rise of the New World nudged the continent towards a gradual unity.
Amidst this global turmoil, the Kingdom of Sauville, unable to decide on its next step, remained in a precarious state of observation.
Clank!
Cecile Lafitte flinched, as though startled by a loud voice. Her wavy chestnut hair, reaching to her shoulders, swayed with her movement.
Saint Marguerite Academy.
Winter break had long ended, and the snow’s white blanket was slowly starting to melt, revealing sprouting buds all over the French-style garden. As seasons changed, Ms. Cecile had shed her thick coat, now standing still in the flowerbed maze with only a wool cardigan.
Skeletal black branches that had eerily stirred through winter were now adorned with early flower buds, heralding spring’s arrival.
Squirrels darted along the path, some scurrying up Cecile’s shoulder or even onto her head. Their chittering tickled her ears, briefly lifting her spirits. A moment later, she let out a heavy sigh and looked at the candy house.
A lovely structure, the little dwelling was enclosed by iron bars from roof to ground, as if the house itself had been imprisoned for some crime it committed.
That day…
On the first morning of 1925, the mysterious little master of the house was finally taken away. And on the same day, construction workers hired by government officials locked the house behind a barricade of iron bars.
As if containing a contagion. As if hiding the traces of a criminal from the world.
The sudden turn of events prevented Ms. Cecile from salvaging anything from the candy house. Not even mementos of Victorique de Blois, the student she looked after for two years, slowly forming a bond with her. The last letter from Kazuya Kujou to Victorique, along with the needle and empty inkwell, also remained on the bedside table. These precious items seemed to gradually sink under the invisible current that was the past, forgotten by people.
Miss Cecile stifled a sob. She reached through the iron bars once more and shook them.
Clank! The cage shuddered.
Ms. Cecile closed her eyes. She wondered if the same fate now befell the house’s occupant. She lamented how little she had done for her in the last two years.
Following orders, she brought the girl books and confections, chiding her when she was being too unreasonable. When the teacher realized that the fellow in black with the stiff gait that Victorique was alluding to was Kazuya Kujou, she sent the boy to the library tower. There was a time when Ms. Cecile dragged Victorique into the classroom and made her cry, but this event fostered a friendship with Avril Bradley, an international student from England. But that was all.
Ms. Cecile’s spirits sank. Perhaps she contributed a little to that child’s growth and peace of mind, but in times like these, when the gears of destiny turned, spinning like the hands of a gigantic clock tower, it felt like there was very little a small and powerless individual like her could do.
I let her go!
She released her grip on the iron bars and stared down at her own palms.
I sent my precious student to such a dreadful place all by herself.
A cold sensation still lingered at her fingertips. That exceedingly horrifying touch of pricking that beautiful skin with needles. A trembling experienced only by those who dared to break taboo.
Ms. Cecile slowly lowered her head. Her round glasses slid down and caught at the tip of her nose. She pushed them back up.
Shoulders drooping, she went through the flowerbed maze and walked down the deserted pathway.
Birds sang. Impatient flowers spread their white petals wide. A gentle breeze blew. The goddess statue glistened under the water flowing down the fountain.
A large old man appeared from behind a gazebo. When he spotted Ms. Cecile, he let out a yelp. It was the old gardener, carrying pruning tools in both hands.
“Well, if it ain’t Cecile! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Gramps?!” Ms. Cecile squealed. She sounded just like she did when she was just a student here in the academy ten years ago.
The gardener strode towards her, set his pruning tools down, and playfully stroked Ms. Cecile’s head like one would a granddaughter.
Ms. Cecile drew her head. “Well…”
“What are you still doing here? The academy’s been shut down. Caught me off guard, by the way. Though given the times, it’s no wonder. There were all sorts of rumors about this place in the village. A strange school with plenty of secrets, and the like.”
“What are you still doing here?” Ms. Cecile asked.
The old man’s thick, leathered skin creased, and he smiled awkwardly. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m worried ‘bout the trees. I’m a gardener, after all.”
“Oh!” Realization dawned, and Ms. Cecile glanced around.
Over two months had passed since Saint Marguerite Academy had practically emptied out, with hardly any students or staff left behind. The campus, famed for its exquisite French-style garden, had begun to showcase its stunning landscapes again this year.
Without maintenance, it would have quickly deteriorated. A massive, artistic landscape crafted by man, the garden continued to thrive gorgeously even without the presence of any observer.
“So you’ve been tending to them.”
“Of course. I don’t get paid, but fortunately, I’ve got my son’s family with me. No worries ’bout food.”
“I see.”
“A gardener can’t abandon his garden, Cecile.”
Ms. Cecile nodded. Then, she cast a sorrowful gaze at her hand again.
The old man furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just… I’m not a teacher anymore.”
“Most of the teachers and staff are pretty much gone. Were you here the whole time?”
“Well, I don’t have any family,” Ms. Cecile replied sheepishly. “Things happened during the previous war, back when I was still a student here, and I was later hired as a teacher by the concerned chairman.”
“Ah, right. I remember.”
Recalling the past, the old man nodded with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Those horrifying four years,” he said, stroking Ms. Cecile’s head again. “It’s almost surreal to think that we’d refer to the Great War as the previous war. I never imagined I’d live to witness such an event.”
“Right. If I recall…”
“Yes.” The old man gazed up at the sky with distant eyes, as if searching for a serene illusion of a realm beyond the clouds where departed souls resided. “Back then, my son was taken away from me. He was so frail, but sweet as an angel. I pray that no one is taken away this time. I hope those big-wigs up there can figure out a smooth resolution before it turns into a major crisis.”
“Yeah…”
“There’s talk about Sauville joining the war soon. Lord above…”
Ms. Cecile nodded. The gardener ambled away, leaving her alone in the middle of the deserted garden. She gazed at the sky.
“Gardeners don’t abandon their gardens, huh?” she mumbled as she sat at the gazebo.
She removed her glasses and wiped the tears. She surveyed the well-tended garden, where joyous flower buds stirred.
“Me too… Ah, me too!” she cried.
A small golden object—perhaps a butterfly—fluttered by, and she put her round glasses back on. She scanned her surroundings with a smile.
But there was no one there. No people, no butterflies. No students.
Everyone was gone.
A foreboding noise drew her gaze to the sky.
A small aircraft streaked across the dazzling, spring firmament, displaying its dark underbelly. Even in these remote mountain environs, planes had become a common sight as of late. The engine’s drone above reverberated eerily through the garden.
“Sauville joining the war… It can’t be true, right? Surely the conflict will end before then. And then everyone will return just like last year. Fun classes, picnics during day offs. Yes, I’m sure.”
Squinting, Ms. Cecile kept her gaze fixed on the sky, scouring for glimmers of hope.
Whirr…
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